The Tale of an Orc
by Casey Toh
Summary: A little Silmarillion based. The story of how an Orc met a woman, and how he recovered slowly in their love. But not all that starts well ends well, nor all that starts badly ends badly. Status: chapter 11 up.
1. Prologue

A/N: This takes place in the middle of the First Age. I'm basing this fic on the assumptions that 1) The Orcs, like the Elves, are immortal, unless killed, since they were Elves once. 2) Not all the "original" Orcs were slain and they survived till this particular time. I am not using Orcs that were bred from the first , but the Elves that were actually taken shortly after their awakening.

The Tale of an Orc 

Prologue

_"…that those of the Quendi who came into the hands of Melkor, ere Utomno was broken, were put there in prison, and by slow arts of cruelty were corrupted and enslaved; and thus did Melkor breed the hideous race of the Orcs in envy and mockery of the Elves, of whom they were afterwards the bitterest foes…"_—Of the Coming of the Elves; The Silmarillion

   In the years after the Shaping of the World was finished, did the Valar take heed of the evil of Melkor under the persuasion of Yavanna and Oromë, and Tulkas counseled to rise swiftly against Melkor.

   But Manwë bade Mandos speak, for the latter was the Herald of Doom as appointed by Ilúvatar before the descent of the Ainur into the world. And Mandos spake, and said: "In this age the Children of Ilúvatar shall come indeed, but they come not yet. Moreover it is doom that the Firstborn shall come in the darkness, and shall look first upon the stars. Great light shall be for their waning. To Varda ever shall they call at need."

   Thus, Varda took thought with herself, and from the dew of Telperion she formed newer and brighter stars than were ever made, and this was accounted as the greatest work of the Valar since the Shaping of the World.

***

   The Elves first awoke by the Waters of Cuivíenen, and their eyes beheld the stars, and those became the things that were ever treasured by them the most.

   Yet, ere Oromë found them, Melkor knew of them, and sought to put fear of the Vala into their hearts, and oft he would send out his servants astride black steeds, taking those who wandered far and alone.

   It was not said how many were taken, but it was accounted amongst the wise that the Firstborn who were taken were turned into Melkor's thralls, changed and mutilated by slow arts of cruelty.

   Many who were unwilling were corrupted by the power of Melkor. Yet, there were others who drew to his service. Those were very few, so that none knew their fate since, and they were forgotten.

***

   The Valar had swiftly gathered their forces and made war on Melkor, and they overthrew and chained him, and brought him back to Valinor to abide the judgment of Manwë. His punishment was to be chained for three ages ere he could sue for pardon.

   Utomno was not left unguarded, though it seemed so, for Melkor's lieutenant hid himself in the deep places, and the Valar could not find him.

   The Elves were summoned to Valinor, and many went; others would not hearken to the summons, and these were named the Avari, the Unwilling, and they had the most and bitterest battles with Orcs.

   Sauron commanded the forces of Utomno and Angband from the deepest pits of the black lands, for he was still afraid. The first Orcs bred and multiplied as Elves did, and Sauron's army grew.

   In the years to come, the Orcs grew sundered even from those whom they had descended from. Many were slain in battles with the Avari, but some of the old remained.


	2. One: The Meeting

A/N: How do you want the fic to proceed? What should happen to the Orc and Utíraiel? Any suggestions? Please R/R. The Tale of an Orc 

One: The Meeting

   The lands in Beleriand were ever besieged by Orcs, for it was in Morgoth's mind to cause as much hurt as he could to the Elves, and he sought ever to hurt Men as well, they being also the Children of Ilúvatar.

   The Orcs roamed throughout the lands, destroying and marring the earth. In those days, the Vala commanded them little, but to destroy as they could, and they were free to do as they would.

   Many were killed by the Elves, yet others surfaced from Angband and Utumno to take the places of the dead.

   In Beleriand, King Felagund and his people hunted the Orcs or chased them from their lands, and the Elves had the friendship and aid of Men.

   Yet, small and scattered parties of Orcs still went about, and they were hard to track, for they traveled swiftly under the cover of darkness.

***

   Beyond the forest of Brethil in Beleriand laid long leagues of land ere it reached Ossiriand in the east, and the plains there were unguarded, for few would dare Haleth's people through the forest if they were enemies.

   Few of Haleth's people indeed walked the plains, for since their coming into the west, their dealings were mainly with the trees, and the Elves of Beleriand.

   Yet it was in the plains that Utíraiel walked, both by day and by night, learning the loves of both the sun and the stars.

   She saw not the waxing or the waning of those, but felt the heat of day and coolness of night, and learnt the beauty of both by the songs of the Elves and of her own people.

   This night, she strolled amongst the knee-tall grass, and in her hand she held a staff, smooth and sturdy. It was a gift from Haleth, both for her to feel her paths by and for defense.

   Utíraiel knew not what she should defend herself from. O! She had indeed heard of the Orcs and wild beasts about: her people had had skirmishes with those, but she had not seen them, save for pictures she formed in her mind from the rumors she had heard. The plain was guarded on all sides by Elven lands. Surely no danger would chance this place?

   Aye. She was young, and she was blind, and ever in the fights with Orcs, she had been taken away swiftly by the order of Haleth. Mayhap because they felt they needed to defend the weak amongst them.

   "But I am only blind," Utíraiel whispered to the air, "not unskilled. Why do they treat me thus?"

   She expected no answer, but when none came, she was still disappointed. She sighed and continued her nightly stroll.

   A sound caught her ears, and she froze. It did not belong in this place, the harsh panting and heavy stomping.

   Curiosity and a little fear arose in her as she turned. She could not see, and thus her ears were sharp, almost as keen as the Elves, and she perceived that someone stood not far away, having halted suddenly.

   Her first thought was that it was an Orc; her next: a wild boar; her third: an Orc again. The tales she had heard from Felagund and her own people gave her cause to fear. She should turn and run, and cry for aid, for how should the blind defend themselves? Instinct told her to flee as she could, but she stood undecided.

   Haleth's people were not cowards. She should shame herself if she fled from danger. _O! Curse the fear! I am of Haleth's people! I will not run!_ She held her staff up and gripped it firmly.

   The panting became hisses, and Utíraiel raised her staff further, ears sharp. "Who passes into Haleth's land?" She demanded. "You are no Elf nor Man. Name yourself!"

   There was a rumble, and a slight snarl, and she felt a slight change in the air as a thing came towards her.

   Utíraiel gave a shout, and moved her staff, deflecting the intended attack. She brought up her staff to strike out at where she thought her attacker would be, but there was nothing. The wood was then given a strong jerk. She yelped and released it, but stumbled forward.

   Someone caught her in his arms, and for a moment, she thought aid had arrived. A cold object was held at her throat. Hot air broke on her neck, and harsh sounds reached her ears.

   She felt a prick of pain and realized that the person had moved the blade ever so slightly and broken her skin. But it was not deep, and she could still fight.

   Grabbing the arm of her assailant, Utíraiel pulled it from her and ducked down as the grip relaxed in surprise. She elbowed the person, and jumped away, forgetting the blade that he held.

   She could not see its journey towards her, and blade cut flesh and drew blood.

   Utíraiel cried out. She had not received battle injury before, and this wound was deep. She staggered backward and tripped over her staff, landing hard on the ground.

   He was on her in a moment, one hand gripping her throat, the other holding the blade at her heart.

   His skin was rough and dry against hers, uneven, as if it bore deep scares that would not heal. She gasped for air and groped for the assailant's face, trying to attack him in any way she could.

   His face felt marred as well, and the hair that fell over his face were coarse and tangled.

   His grip tightened.

   Utíraiel choked and spasm, but dug her nails into his flesh, causing him to growl in pain. She groped higher, and felt wetness; and halted in surprise.

   A sudden tighter grip on her throat made her cry out again, and she coughed as the hand and the blade withdrew from her.

   As she lay there gasping, a part of her mind heard what sounded like sobs, and the running of feet away from her.


	3. Two: Conscience of one who possesses it ...

A/N: I don't know what I'm writing about for this chapter. It came out weird and a little wayward from what I had intended. It's a little incoherent 'cause the guy's not thinking properly—his thoughts are coming in jumbles and broken memories. Sorry for the shortness as well. I write better when chapters are short. I may revise this, though.

The Tale of an Orc 

Two: Conscience of one who possesses it not

   He ran. Away from the girl, gasping as water trickled down his face. Rain. Was it rain? He glanced up, and saw that the night sky was clear, and stars filled it. He cried out, and shielded his eyes. The stars hated him.

   His breath was hot in his throat, and he coughed dryly, hand reaching up to cover his mouth. It was wet.

   His whole face was wet, and he knew not why. _Tears_. The words came from a half-forgotten time. _Tears_.

   No. He could not have tears. Those were for Elves and Men. He hated them! He was bred to kill them! Only Ilúvatar's Children could have tears! He was not one of them! Morgoth was his master!

   He stumbled forward, and saw that he neared the trees. 

   _Brethil_. That word could not be known to him. It was the tongue of the Elves! How could he know of it?

   With an anguished scream, he disappeared amongst the trees.

***

   The rays of Anor shone in between the gaps of the leaves and branches. The light hurt him, and blinded him as eyes used to the dark saw the light, so that he hissed. But in some places the canopy was thick, and provided shelter from the sun, and he was able to hide in the high branches of a tree.

   His face was sticky and damp, and he wondered anew at the water on his face the night before.

   He looked at his hands. They were dark, the flesh wrinkled and hard in the light gloom of the forest. He reached up to touch his face, and felt the wounds inflicted by the girl.

   He growled. He had hurt her, and wanted to kill her. The scent of drawn blood had smelt so fresh and so good. She had fought back, and he retaliated with savage joy.

   Yet, he had not killed her in the last, had fled from her to this place, and had felt the water—tears—on his face as he fled. They came from his eyes, of their own accord.

   He moved absently, and gazed in wonder at a thin shaft of Anor's ray on his arm. It hurt him not at all, as his lord had said it would. He of the creature of the night could not stand against the hallowed light of the dew of Laurelin and not quail, yet he was unharmed.

   Thoughts unbidden came. He tried to push them away, snarling at the leaves, but those came still: people young and naked by starlit waters; fair songs; soft speech.

   He parted his lips to speak the words of his visions, but could not, and knew that he had forgotten how to. Only coarse growls came forth, frightening a few birds into twittering. He cursed in his mind, in the tongue of the Orcs, and those words came to him easily.

   He trembled. Should his lord learn of the visions he have had for many times, he would be slain. He thought naught of why they should come so strong now, and why the ray of Arnor hurt him not but he was afraid of the stars. He only knew that the girl from yestereve was the cause of those. 

   He would slay her, so that those dreams may halt.


	4. Three: Concerns of a Brother

A/N: *high, nervous squeaky voice* Um…you want to know something? You guys really scare me. Lol. *normal voice* Thanks to all my reviewers for the wonderful reviews. Honestly, I never expected to have this many of them, and good ones at that! I'm nervous (and scared!) 'cause I know I'm only a mediocre writer who always makes mistakes. But you people are really encouraging. Thanks.

   Btw, I won't be able to update this fic till the end of next week, because of exams. I'm sorry. *mumbles to myself* Yeah, right, like anyone would miss this fic…

The Tale of an Orc Three: Concerns of a Brother 

   Utíraiel laid on the ground in a swoon. The moon waxed, moving higher overhead, and the night grew colder. Dew started to form on the grass, and their cool wetness woke the girl.

She stirred and groaned. The blade wound had became a throb as she had lain in a daze, but now that she moved, fresh fire burned in it, and she felt tears come to her eyes.

She stirred and groaned. The blade wound had became a throb as she had lain in a daze, but now that she moved, fresh fire burned in it, and she felt tears come to her eyes.

She planted the staff firmly in the ground, and dragged herself up, gasping as she felt fresh blood flow down her arm. It frightened her that she could lose so much blood with just a small movement. She had to reach home, had to get to her brother.

   But where was home?

   Utíraiel forced herself to remain still, to listen and to smell. She shifted a little, both from the pain and from her anxiousness to move, just move. But no! If she walked in the direction of Ossiriand, many days would pass ere someone found her. She would have bled to death, or mayhap her assailant would return, and she would be dead as well.

A breeze blew on her face, and with that came the faint scent of the beech. Utíraiel turned towards the direction where the wind blew from. Now that she had a direction, she hurried on, eager to reach the safety of Brethil, and of home.

***

   Alkaré heard a soft hoot from below his tree-house. There was silence for a moment, and another hoot came, softer and weaker than the first. He rose hastily and leaned out from the hole that served as a window, and saw a dark figure at the base of his tree.

   In worry, he deftly climbed down the rope ladder. "Utíraiel!" He exclaimed in a harsh whisper. "Why did you tarry this night? You had father and mother worried! And so was I!" The hand that grabbed her wrist came away wet from her arm. "You are hurt!"

   The girl hissed and sagged against her brother. In the thin shafts of the silvery rays of Ithil, he could see that her face was wet as well, but with water. _Tears_. He realized. She was crying.

   "What did you tell mother and father?" Utíraiel asked tiredly, weak from the blood loss. 

   "I sent word that you came to stay with me," Alkaré answered. He held her in his arms as he climbed up the ladder with the practiced skill of an Elf-friend; though he had not the nimbleness of the Elves, he was strong, and well taught by Finrod. Once in his house, he cleansed her hurt by lamp-light, and placed healing leaves on her wound.

"What happened?"

Utíraiel shook her head, though she trembled, and coughed, placing a hand on her neck.

Alkaré knew his sister well, and removed her hand from her neck. He saw the harsh red marks of a large hand on her skin, and fear and anger gripped his heart that she was assailed thus.

"Sister, tell me what had happened." His voice was firm.

"Nay!" Utíraiel said, and her voice wavered. "Not yet. Do not ask me again, Alkaré. I will tell you when I will." She looked at him, and her eyes were tired, frightened, and confused, though he knew not why she should be puzzled. "Please, brother."

He gathered her in his arms and leaned back against the trunk of his tree, careful not to hurt her. "I will tell Haleth to increase the border guards. Sleep well, sister."

Utíraiel nodded. "My thanks. Good night, brother." She closed her eyes, and was disappointed to see no change from gloom to darkness. O! Curse her blindness! She trembled again, and her brother held her more tightly.

As sleep came upon her, she wondered with fear and puzzlement what her assailant looked like, and why he had cried as he had attacked her.

###########

Well, yet another horrible and short chapter by me, but I hope you enjoyed it. Btw, I thought I should explain what Utíraiel's name means. I formed it from Sindarin…and hopefully, it's correct and doesn't sound like a MS's name.

Ú= negative meaning; not possessing

tíra= (to) see

iel= shortened form of "iell" meaning "daughter"

So, what I wished to accomplish with the name is "Daughter of Un-sight." Okay. Weird, I know.


	5. Four: Spying

A/N: My last second day of exams, and a free day tomorrow. So I'm trying to write this up first. And the humans are using some Elven speech 'cause their people adopted um…(is it?) Sindarin for usage. If it's not Sindarin, pardon me, since I don't learn Quenya. And please, I'm not hinting of anything more than sibling love in their actions. These were the norm in M.E. 

My thanks to all my reviewers. I really appreciate your comments. g Please R/R. Okay?

The Tale of an Orc 

Four: Spying 

   Alkaré walked beside Utíraiel in the plain, and felt the cool air of open space and smiled at Ithil and Varda's stars that bathed them in their silvery brilliance. Now that he came again, he remembered the joys of open space he had felt in their travel to the west, and berated himself that he should forget the feeling so soon, taking on the lives of Elves, and forgetting that of Men.

   He shook his head, holding his sister's hand that did not hold her staff. _Ai_! It had been long since they had walked or truly spent time together as they had in their youth. He missed those times, when they were traveling, and he would hold his sister's hand so that he could lead her, and ensure that no danger came to her.

   O! How he had grieved when he had understood that she could not see, for the race of Men was young, and more resilient to the sicknesses that plagued Men in older ages. Why his sister, he knew not as well, but he grieved then, and did so now, for she loved the plains and would not forsake it wholly. Yet, the attack on her worried him. He had seen her wounds, and those seemed not ones that were inflicted by any Man or Elf. 

   Mayhap an Orc.

   _Stop these thoughts,_ _Alkaré_, he scolded himself. For he was certain that Utíraiel's assailant still roamed Brethil, and until it was caught, he would not leave her to wonder alone. Aye. She was capable, but her blindness left her open to attacks more than their people were. And he was here to be certain that her assailant not hurt her again, so he should not let his guard down now. Nay. Not while they were so far from their people or from aid.

   Curse the fate that she was born blind! Haleth's people were all in great health and stature. Why should his sister not have the same gift?

   Utíraiel's hand tightened on her brother's. "Alkaré, you are troubled again," she said, thumb softly caressing her brother's knuckles, as she had done so since young when both had walked together, hands held.

   He sighed, and groaned inwardly. How Utíraiel always knew him troubled was beyond his understanding. Mayhap the lack of her sight gave her keener senses in sight not of the eyes? "Nay, sister. Do not trouble yourself with my thoughts." 

   The girl laughed softly, and Alkaré wondered to see that she bore no grievances for her plight, nor did she seem worried over the hurts she had. "Do not try to deceive me, brother. I know you well enough. Come now. Tell me your thoughts."

   Alkaré chuckled. "You always seem to know me better than I do you, my dear sister." He was silent for a moment. "I was only cursing fate that should have you born blind, and worried about your assailant."

   Utíraiel smiled. "O, worry not about my blindness, brother, though I know you have oft cursed fate." She laughed at his surprised jerk. "Aye, I have heard your curses many times, when you thought I could not hear." Her hand squeezed her brother's. "Truly, Alkaré, worry not, for I have lived so long in darkness it would frighten me greatly should my sight be given back now. And worry not about my assailant as well, for I am certain he has fled."

   "_He_, sister?" Alkaré said. "I have no certainty to that." 

   The girl shook her head. "I know not _he_, _she_ or _it_, brother. Not yet." She gave him a playful tug. "Come now! Long has it been since we have walked together as we used to! Let us not dwell on unpleasant thoughts now!" So saying, she let go of his hand and ran, her staff hitting the ground at times to feel for obstacles in her way.

   Alkaré laughed, and gave chase, grabbing her hand again and running, as light as deer under the stars. 

***

   Utíraiel knew that Alkaré was troubled. O! She knew. For the un-sight had given her sight in places not of the eyes. And though she was glad for those, it made her vulnerable as well, for it was as if with the darkening of her eyes, naught from the world beyond could she see, nor could she truly reveal to others her world within.  

   She wished for the sight of her eyes, but she had lived without it for so many years. Could she accept it if she was to be given sight back?

   _Worry not about my assailant?_ She thought. Nay. She worried, and she was frightened, but it would do no good to worry her brother too much. And she was still troubled over her assailant, and his tears. O! Despite her words, she knew it was a _he_, not _it_. Or mayhap it was an _it_ as her brother thought, but she felt not that way.

   She wished to meet him again, though it frightened her greatly to remember the hurts she had received from him. Yet…his tears. He had cried. And she wished to know why.

***

   He crouched on the branch of a beech, second from the last tree of the forest, certain to remain in shadows out of the hate of the stars. The branch was sturdy, and bore him well without the slightest creak under his weight, yet it felt as if the branch and leaves moved under his feet and hands. The tree liked him not, though it bore him now, for he felt it from its murmurs. 

   Still, it made him wonder that he could understand its murmurs. Not all. Some. As if he had been taught how to read the speech of its leaves and bark.

   He growled slightly, and the murmurs halted. The branches stopped. And he returned his eyes to the plains.

   The girl was there, but now, a man walked by her side. They were not far away, and easily seen. He was tall and well-built, and the grace at which he walked hinted of unseen strength. If a fight should come, the man would prevail easily, for he walked without fear under the stars and was loved by them, as the girl was.

   He rumbled in discontent. O! How he wished to feel flesh under his claws now, to tear them apart, and breath in the scent of fresh blood! To tint the darkness he saw with red!

   Their cries of delight made him look again, and he saw the man chasing the girl, laughing, dancing gaily under light of silver, and thoughts unbidden came again, of people golden and silver-haired, tumbling, crying with joy. He saw in his mind a starlit mere, and people in play.

   He saw all of those, and they hurt him much, so that he snarled and hit his fist against the tree. Though not strong enough to even cause a ripple of leaves, the tree trembled and shook slightly, and the murmurings returned. 

   That, with his visions, shot pain through his head, and darkness threatened to tear at his mind. His master! Think of his master! His master would heal his hurts!

   The trembling of the tree increased, until the branches shook under him. Nay! Think not of its mutterings! Morgoth! Master! Help me!

   In his pain, his eyes and ears still saw and heard clearly the play of the girl and man, and their laughs of joy and delight.

#####

Which name do you think sounds nicer? The first two mean (hopefully) "Star mere" and the last two mean "Star waters." Or if you have any suggestions that are nicer than these, which IMHO are awful, please suggest them. Thanks.

Giláel

Eláel

Gîlnen

Elnên

Argh!!! The format came out all wrong after uploading! So if those come out side by side, please, they're not one name but four different names. *grumbles*


	6. Five: A Second Meeting

A/N: Sorry this took some time. This chapter may be a little confusing, so if you don't understand anything, please feel free to e-mail me at skyfiery@yahoo.com . 

The Tale of an Orc 

Five: A Second Meeting

   Utíraiel walked amongst the beech trees, staff prodding the ground for the roots and twigs that might lie in her way. She sighed, missing the open plains, for she had promised Alkaré not to wander to the borders of Brethil on her own, for fear ruled him still.

   She had protested, but Alkaré was adamant. _"Choose, Utíraiel," _he had said. _"Take the plains, and I go with you; or wander not from Brethil, on your own."_

   _"These are no choices, Alkaré_," she had grumbled.

   _"Aye,"_ he said grimly. _"Yet, choose."_

   Utíraiel chose for Brethil, for though she loved and enjoyed the company of her brother, night was a time she set apart to be alone, to know that she could still stand alone.

   Yet, now she regretted it. She could have bore Alkaré's company as she walked, for he was not a talker, and oft was content to be with her in silence.

   The forest was silent now, and Utíraiel wished not to break it: she knew how to move quietly. Finrod had tutored her for many months, ensuring that all of Haleth's people (she as well) could be silent amongst the trees, be they blind or no.

   Utíraiel took a few steps more, un-lulled into peace by the trees as the plains would do to her. She felt trees, trees and trees.

   And then something more.

***

   He had waited for Anor to wane ere he descended from his tree, for Men roamed the forest in the day, and if he were to be spotted, he would surely be slain.

   Like all the other trees, he had heard this one's murmur, and gained the knowledge that it was old. How old, he knew not. But it knew him, knew his kind, since it was a sapling.

   He was puzzled, more so than ever. But when he tried to think, flames burnt in his mind, red and black, riddled with shadows. He growled, but visions and pain of the mind eased not as quickly or willingly as those of the body.

   As if his thoughts about them were spoken aloud, the beech trees raised their voices, many as once, others on their own. All said they knew his kind.

   The pain returned to his head, and the trees trembled, though no wind blew. But it was dull, not sharp as before, as if the trees protected him from a thing beyond.

   "Gurlok," he tried. It came out as a hiss.

   The voices of the beech rose in a clamor. _Nay!_ They cried. _Not Gurlok! Accursed name! _

   He growled again, this time from frustration. The clamoring intensified, and the voices of the trees called forth a picture they knew he had; they knew it to be from his memory.

   And he saw the same people he had had fleeting visions of: tall, long-limbed, and fair of face. 

   He stepped forward, and halted in surprise.

   It was the girl.

***

   Utíraiel sensed him, sensed another presence not of trees or animals. It was him: he who had attacked her. Her assailant.

   Her mind went into a clamor of thoughts. _Run!_ Cried one. _Flee!_

   Another spoke: _Curse yourself, girl! You should not have lost your guard! This is Brethil, aye, but it is large. And your assailant have roamed free and now returns for you!_

   Yet another arose, softer in voice but no less compelling, and it asked: _Why? Why did you cry?_

   She had turned to flee, her staff held out in fear, when she had halted as the thoughts came.

   _How do you know if truly he is your assailant?_

   O, curse her head! Of course she knew. If aught else, the harsh, ragged breathing from those lips were the same!

   Now she turned swiftly and made to run, fear tight in her chest, causing her to stumble.

   A hand gripped her arm and offered her purchase. It was rough, and scarred as well, and Utíraiel yelped, jerking away and falling sharply on her elbow.

   A cry escaped her lips at the pain. She tried to scramble up, to get away, but in her pain and haste, succeeded only in hurting herself more.

   "_Daro!_ The harsh voice growled in the tongue of the Elves of Doriath, then in Quenya. "_Pusto_!"

   Utíraiel halted. To hear the fair speech of the Elves from her assailant came as a shock, and she strained to hear something to form pictures in her mind.

   Her arm was grabbed again, and she stiffened but did not pull away. He aided her to her feet (though not gently), and she felt her staff placed in her good arm, and she sensed him not, anymore.

***

   He saw the girl, and wondered to see that she was as those in his visions, though not tall or truly fair of face. Yet, she seemed close enough. 

   He knew not how, but he sensed her curiosity and hesitation amidst her fears as she tried to flee.

   "_Daro!_" He called, and marveled to hear himself speak a foreign tongue. "_Pusto!_" Nay, two foreign tongues.

   _Not foreign or stranger._

   The pain came again, pushing through the barrier of trees.

   He aided her to her feet.

   The pain! She had caused it! Curse her! He would rip her apart now!

   _Morgoth! Master! _He cried, turning to flee. But those visions would not depart, nor did Morgoth aid him.

   _Master! _The pain came, more.

   The trees protected him not now.


	7. Six: Conversation

A/N: I'm sorry this chapter took so long to come. I was busy with my exams and the results, which were terrible—I failed miserably for four out of five of my subjects, and was depressed, thus, having no mood to get this chapter typed out. My apologies.

   Hey, Moonstone Tears, thanks for prodding me to type this chapter out, or else I'd never have gotten it done.

*…* = Sindarin

… = Quenya

The Tale of an Orc 

Six: Conversation

   _Utíraiel had returned to her parents' house after telling Alkaré about it in the darkness so that her brother should not see that she was injured yet again and start his questioning once more._

_   Finrod Felagund had been visiting Haleth, and was at her parents' house, for she felt light but strong Elven hands aid her up the ladder when she called to her father._

_   "You are hurt!" Esfaiel said._

_   "I am all right, mother." Utíraiel hid a wince at the pain. "I fell over a root."_

_   "Come." Finrod took her good hand and led her to a quiet corner. "I will mend your arm."_

   Utíraiel trembled slightly, but stilled herself quickly, afraid that Finrod would sense it, for keen were the senses of an Elf. But he said naught as he mended her arm, and she felt more at ease.

***

   Utíraiel took a few wrapped pieces of _lembas_ in her pouch as she traveled (1). She had a few apples with her as well, and her water-skin. It had been well for her that her parents had asked naught about those.

   She hummed a soft tune of the Elves, soft enough not to frighten anything, but loud enough for someone to know of her presence. Her good arm held the staff and traveling pouch, her left having been tied in a sling, even after having been mended, for Finrod had said that she should not use it too much.

   She hoped he would come, for she wished to speak with him. Yet, she was nervous. Should she do this? It would not be a wise choice to be open to attack or injury again. Twice was enough.

   The night creatures seemed to join in her song, and she heard squeaks and hoots at times. She walked on for some time more, and froze as she heard the breathing she had associated with _him_.

   Utíraiel almost dropped her pouch and staff to flee, but restrained herself. It would be a waste of her efforts should she hearken to her fears.

   "Well m-met," she said, and waited.

   A rumble was her answer, but he made no move to flee or to hurt her.

   Utíraiel held out her hand, having made the choice to be bold. "Would you come? I wish to speak with you."

***

   He roamed amongst the trees, starving, searching for a kill. Brethil had few preys, and what he could kill, he had done so.

   He had wandered about for many hours after the waning of the sun. The forest had been silent then, until he had heard the soft humming. He recognized the voice of the girl, and froze, remembering the pain of his visions.

   Yet, his feet moved on their own, and took him to the girl. She could not see, that he knew, and he marveled to see that she sense him, for she halted and did not dare move.

   She spoke to him in a tongue he understood not, and he growled his answer. She would not dare play with him, or he would rip her apart! She spoke again, and held out her hand.

   He gazed upon it with wonder. Few he had hurt so willingly wished to touch him again, and he felt a dull ache in his breast. It was not sharp, but filled with grief.

   A sudden longing to speak made him take hold of the offered hand.

***

   Utíraiel almost gasped as her hand was grabbed, but he did naught more. She gathered her courage and tightened her hold, thumb caressing the scarred skin as she did with Alkaré.

   "Come." She led him to a small clearing she knew of, staff prodding the ever-changing ground of the forest, aided by _him._

   They reached it, and sat down. Utíraiel hesitated for a moment ere she reached into her traveling pouch and withdrew the _lembas_ and apples, holding them straight in front of her, hands trembling.

   The offered foods were grabbed, and she heard the leaf wrappings of the _lembas_ tore open in haste.

***

   He took the food and ate them, halting for a moment to wonder at the taste. He had seen the apples before, and took no interest in them. But the _lembas_ brought back his visions again.

   Yet, ere the pain came, he felt the trees draw closer about him as they had done before, and this time, mayhap for his willingness, the trees aided him.

   He did not know what the food wrapped in leaves was, but they tasted of those of his visions: fair fare made by the Elves as they did at the mere.

   Who are you? The girl asked.

   And he began to remember, as the visions returned slowly.

***

    *Who are you?* Utíraiel asked in the tongue of Doriath: Sindarin, for her people lived in Elu Thingol's land and were bade to learn his tongue. There was no answer. _Mayhap in Quenya?_ Who are you? She asked again, more boldly.

   The older tongue seemed to jolt him so that he froze, and finally answered in a rough but shaky voice: Cuivíenen. Awakening.

   Utíraiel cocked her head. _Cuivíenen?_ She knew of the Waters of Awakening, for Finrod had taught them his lore passed down by the Eldar. But that was a name known only to the Eldar, or their descendents and those whom the Elves chose to share that knowledge with: the people of Haleth were one of those.

   She remained silent in deep thought, though she was aware of all about her: that was mayhap one of the blessings of blindness?

   He had stopped moving as well.

   Utíraiel heard his mumbles of names in Quenya. Cuivíenen. Water. S-stars. She frowned a little. Those words seemed to form and mould into the tale Finrod had taught her: that the Eldar first awoke in the East, in Cuivíenen, beside a mere, and their eyes first beheld the stars in the water, and the sky, and some of whom were taken and turned into Orcs by Morgoth.

   Finrod had said that those who were taken were taken soon after the Awakening, but how could a Mortal with the doom of death know how much time 'soon' was in the eyes of those who were Immortal?

   A thought came into her mind, sudden and unbidden, and she gasped. _Could he be one of the Elda from the Days of the Stars?_

#####

(1) I read somewhere (don't remember where again) that Galadriel learnt how to make _lembas_ from her stay in Doriath and learning from Melian. Only the Lords and Ladies were allowed to give the _lembas_ to those not of the Elves. So I just supposed that Finrod got permission from Thingol to teach Haleth's people, since they were loved by the Elf, and Finrod was Thingol's close friend.


	8. Seven: Healings

A/N: I may not be able to update frequently 'cause I'm working part-time, and having exams coming up. This chapter is a little weird…I still don't know why. And a friend of mine pointed out that an Orc wouldn't smell *that* good, so Utíraiel should have smelt him (and be able to) at first. My mistake. Sorry. Maybe I should try being blind, eh?

Rose Cotton: I hope that the language is toned down this time. 

Moonstone Tears: Hey! Are you trying to compete with me for the Guiness World Record for who takes the longest to update???!!!

*…* = Quenya

The Tale of an Orc 

Seven: Healings

   He found that he could think more clearly now. How, or why, he did not know. Mayhap it was because of the…_lembas_, the girl called it. _Lembas_ by the Elves; even if she had not told him that, he would have guessed it by the taste.

   He still shunned the starlight and sunlight, but did not loathe them now, and he had even stood at the borders of Brethil, watching the dawn and the evening.

   The girl—he knew not her name yet—had met him every night in the clearing where he had tasted the fare of the Elves, and he had no worries for food.

   He briefly remembered the kindred of his Master. The Orcs, they were named. That, he remembered clearly enough: he had been one, though not in the start; he was still an Orc now, was he not?

   It felt like it, yet did not.

   He strained to recall, to bring back memories of the times he had been an Orc, and the times before. They came in broken pieces.

   _He and his other kindred far more sundered had been part of an army sent to…Doriath? Aye, Doriath, but he understood not the tongue._

_   His party had been waylaid as they had sought retreat._ His scarred face frowned. _In the midst of battle, it had been confusing, and as many were killed, he had fled. Aye, he had fled, yet not out of…Doriath. Nay, not Doriath._ His frown deepened, and a growl escaped his throat. _Beleriand. That was what the girl had said in his tongue._

   His tongue. He shook his head in frustration, growling yet again. His tongue was that of his kindred, of the Orcs, for that speech was what he had been taught, and he spoke and thought it.

   Yet, why could he understand what the girl spoke of, if what she spoke be not his tongue as well? Though he did not remember using it at all.

   Nay. He had used it, under the stars in the first and now in Brethil. _Cuivíenen_, he had said. _Cuivíenen. It laid…in the east, but the lands have changed. The Waters of Awakening is lost._

   He shook his head again. It was nearly dusk, and the stars would begin their waxing. He backed away into the trees.

   The stars would come, but he would not face them yet. He growled. He was still an Orc.

***

   Utíraiel sat in the clearing on a fallen log, and ate small pieces of dried rabbit that Alkaré had hunted down. The men traveled frequently outwards to the borders of Beleriand to hunt, for Thingol would not permit the animals in his realm to be killed, and even his own Elves hunted far from Doriath.

   Alkaré had grumbled then, as he had done for many times before, of the madness of the king. Utíraiel chuckled to herself. Nay, the king of Doriath was not mad, but he liked Men little, and many of Haleth's people returned that dislike, though both sides were held in a truce by Finrod.

   Then, a smell reached her nose, and she could do naught but laugh lightly. She did not know how she had not noticed the smell of a long un-bathed body in their first few encounters, but when she had noticed it, she had ordered him to bathe in the nearest lake.

   O! How he had refused, and growled at her at first! And when she heard that, froze in fear. But he had not attacked her, and she had gathered up her courage again and spoken firmly that if he would not at least douse himself with water, his scent would cling to her and he would be caught.

   He had grumbled like a child as he departed in search of a lake, though not in Quenya or Sindarin. The words were coarse and vulgar, but Utíraiel was certain that he grumbled.

   Yet, now that she turned to her thoughts, she was not certain if her words were just empty threats, for he had indeed touched her body with his in a few encounters, and she worried that her people—and Finrod—would have smelt that and be suspicious.

   *You—laugh,* he spoke with uncertainty.

   *Nay, do not mind me.* Utíraiel giggled slightly. *Here. _Lembas_ and rabbit.* She remained still, listening to the sounds of his meal. *Do you remember aught yet?*

   *No.*

   Utíraiel waited for more, but he was silent. She reached out and touched his skin, coarse, but different from that of a tree's bark. He allowed and suffered her touch, and she thought that some of the ridges on his skin were smaller. Could it be—? Nay. It could not.

   *Do you remember your name?* She ventured.

   He grunted, but said naught, and Utíraiel knew that his speech had not returned to him fully, and did not prod further. Mayhap she could speak to Finrod and ask about the first Elves. What she learnt could aid her in deciding what to do, for she had not the skill to hide him for long.


	9. Eight: A Talk Between Old Friends

A/N: I'm sorry I took so long to update, and that this is such a short chapter. I was working during December, and now, guess what? My college timetable starts at 8am everyday and ends at 5pm. Very nice, huh? Grrr…

*cringes at Moonstone's glare* (See chapter 33 of Forbidden Wanderings by Moonstone Tears). I'm sorry! I'm sorry! And my apologies to Belthronding as well.

The Tale of an Orc 

Eight: A Talk Between Old Friends

   The halls of Doriath were built under the canopy of the huge trees claimed long ago by Elu Thingol as his own. Few rocks or boulders decorated it, the dwelling of the Sindar being formed more by the tightly intertwining branches and overlapping leaves of the trees. The trees had allowed Melian to shape their lower branches as well, so that many hallways of sorts were formed by the arches.

   Finrod Felagund smiled and admired once again the work of one of the earliest Elves from the Awakening. He was bathed by sunlight at regular intervals as he walked, Thingol having convinced the trees long ago that the Elves needed light from _Anor_ as well as of _Ithil_, and the trees had suffered gaps in their growth to allow light through.

   Several of the Sindar greeted him and Finrod hailed them as they passed him. He came finally to a large hall, built partly from stone in some places, but covered by the trees and plant growth in others.

   "_Suilad, mellon nîn_." Finrod placed a hand on his chest and bowed slightly. (Greetings, my friend.)

   "_Mae govannen!_" (Well met/ Welcome) Thingol hurried down from where he sat to embrace the younger Elf. *It has been many months since I have seen you. How do you fare?* He led Finrod to a table laden with _lembas_, fruit and dried meat.

   *I am well, Elu.* Finrod sat down with his friend. *How do _you_ fare?*

   Thingol shrugged. *Orcs have still been troubling my borders and the land, but we hold them away well.*

   *Tell me, my friend, if I do not overstep myself, how the first Orcs came about.*

   Thingol's face darkened and he turned his gaze upon his friend. *I have told you the tale before.*

   *Again, please. I grow old, and my memory fails me some times.*

   The king of Doriath did not respond to the jest, but merely shrugged again and acceded to his friend's request. As one of the Firstborn of Cuivíenen, he knew more about the birth of the Orcs than the later-born. He did not see himself how many of his kin had vanished, but he remembered the faces of many when they spoke in fear of those who had been taken.

   *There is not much to speak of, as you know,* he said. *Mayhap a few hundred years passed after our awakening and we had formed speech. We knew no fear then, and many wandered the lands. When the first disappeared one night, we did not think much but that mayhap he had sought out new lands.

   *But more were gone after the first, small by the count of the Elves, yet too many to ignore. I have gone with the others to seek out those who were lost, but I knew that they could not be returned.* His face clouded with the pain of a memory. *For one night, under the light of the stars, we went to search again, going further from the waters.

   *I saw in the shadow of a wood eyes that gleamed yellow, and black, scarred skin. My companions did not see him—nay! it, and I did not speak to them of it.*

   *Orc?* Finrod asked gently, laying a hand on Thingol's shoulder, having not heard this part before—his friend had always spoke of the tale quickly, though he knew not why Thingol would tell the full tale this day.

   The Sindar sighed heavily. *Aye. I did not know it, then, but it was one. I was afraid of being attacked, but I saw in its eyes deeply my kin of old, who had been changed beyond recognition. It did not hurt me that night.* He closed his eyes and leaned back against his seat. *Why? What has happened to stir your interest again?*

   Finrod smiled easily. *Naught, but my own capacity for curiosity.* A pause. *Do you think…maybe…*

   Thingol exhaled, half with amusement and half with frustration. *Speak more plainly, my friend! It is unlike you to hesitate in speech.* He narrowed his eyes and poked the other Elf in the arm. *Are you truly my friend, Finrod? And not someone else?*

   Finrod laughed, and jabbed his finger at the king's side. *Aye, I am he.*

   *Are you?* Thingol rose from his seat and walked about his friend. *Bright hair and bright eyes, high nose, and…ah, yes. Pointed ears.* He clapped the other on his back. *You are truly Finrod.*

   He pretended to cough. *You are trying to kill me with that slap on my back, Elu.*

   The king chuckled and held a goblet of wine out. *Here. Our friendship is salvaged over this?*

   Finrod took a sip, and found that the taste of the wine of the Sindar was as good as ever. *Aye, it is, for how can I refuse such fine wine?*

   *Then you have drunk enough in all your visits to have salvaged our friendship even without this cup.*

   *Nay, I would still want this.* Finrod kept his goblet out of reach, eyes laughing.

   *I will not deny you that, my friend.* Thingol sat down, still smiling, apparently halting their brief fun. *Nor aught else that you wish for, if it be in my power. But come, you were about to ask a question.*

   *Do you…do you think that any of the First could still live?*

   Thingol shrugged. *I do not know.*


	10. Nine: Finding Out

A/N: I'm terribly sorry I took so long for this chapter. Hope that it is to your (readers') satisfaction.

   I used capital H for 'His, He' etc. in some places to emphasize that it's the Orc that I'm describing or him speaking, since Finrod is going to appear and two males (one without name yet) is going to be mighty confusing.

*…* = Quenya

"…" = Common Speech

**The Tale of an Orc**

Nine: Finding Out

   Finrod walked towards Brethil, cloaked in dark green with a hood pulled over his face. The rays of _Ithil_ were muted by some passing clouds, as if by his calling, and did not reveal him to any eyes that might have watched the lands.

   His sword hung by his side, swinging gently with each stride he took, and two small knives were concealed on him.

   He did not wish to go to Brethil so armed, but the forest was under the domain of Thingol, who was his friend, and who wished to see it safe. He had love as well for the People of Haleth, and wished no harm to befall them.

   He had smelt its scent before, on the girl: Utíraiel, she was named; the scent which Firstborn and Secondborn alike hated. And he had seen the marks left on her that she could not see.

   He did not know why she had not told them about the attack on her, but did not press her further.

   But there was something different Finrod had smelt…a faint sense of Elvishness beneath the foulness of Orcs that led him to wonder about the first Orcs. Mayhap some would still live.

   He halted for a moment. But even if he saw the First, and found it, what more? Should he slay it? Or would it be Elvish enough so that he could seek help for it, mayhap from Melian?

   Finrod shook his head and continued on, the hilt of his long Elven knife gripped tightly.

***

   Utíraiel sat on the log as usual, hearing the noises of hungry eating to the left of her. She grinned as she felt her hand being held up by His calloused one and her traveling pouch placed into her hand.

   *Thank you,* she said.

   A growl.

   *What, you are not full still?* She laughed lightly.

   *You…have aided me mu-much,* the rough but uncertain voice said. *T-thank y-y-you.*

   Utíraiel smiled, feeling light of heart as His ways became gentler and He slowly gained back his use of speech. Her hand sought out His, touching the rough root of the tree ere His hand took hers. *Nay, there is no need for thanks.*

   He was silent as her thumb felt the ridges on his palm, and the back of his hand. He allowed that, for it brought back remembrances of soft caresses beside a great silver lake. And he recalled that the time spent near that great lake was short.

   The while shimmering from the waters of the lake from his memory soothed him, and he thought of the road that led to the lake, but he found that he had forgotten its path.

   Utíraiel's thumb continued its exploring.

   Darkness and the red of fire took the place of the lake, and dimness and greyness. And in that place came soft touches amidst the shadows and darkness.

   He grunted.

   The girl's thumb stopped. *What is wrong?*

   *I-I remember a lake, and touches…*

   Utíraiel felt an unexpected pain go through her. *W-who was she?*

   *I do not know. It was too—* He halted and sniffed the damp air of Brethil, then rose swiftly and snarled.

   She felt him step in front of her, for she smelt his faint odour directly before her. His hand released hers as she rose, but she had felt its tenseness.

   "W-who is there?" She demanded, half-afraid that other Orcs had somehow found a hidden way into Brethil, but she did not doubt that he would protect her; or that someone of her people her come.

   There was silence for a moment, in which Utíraiel shifted more behind Him, trying to hide herself from the stranger that had come upon them so unannounced.

   "Utíraiel?"

   The voice was light and musical, but wary, and she had no trouble knowing its owner, for he was her friend, and she had grown up accustomed to his presence. "Lord Felagund? Finrod?"

   She heard the soft crunch of leaves under light footsteps, and she felt Him tense even more and growl, shoulders hunched as if ready to spring and attack.

   The song of a skillfully drawn sword hummed in the still air.

   "No!" She cried, moving around Him to reveal herself. "No, Finrod! Sheath your sword, please!" She turned to the direction she knew He was in, and her hand touched his skin. *No, do not attack. He is a friend.*

   The Elf knew Utíraiel's speech to the Orc he saw, and halted, sheathing his sword, thought reluctantly. He stepped forward warily, eyes ever on the Orc that he knew Utíraiel could not see, but should have sensed. * Utíraiel, walk towards me, slowly.*

   *Finrod, he is a friend.* She felt Him shift beneath her hand, and she squeezed his arm gently to stay him. *You have no need to fear him, Finrod.*

   * Utíraiel, he is an—*

   *Orc? I knew that a few months ago, Lord. May we sit down? And I will tell you the tale.*

   The Orc kept an eye on the Elf, but aided the girl back to the log and saw that she sat. He then rose to his full height and stared at Finrod, barring his teeth and hissing.

   Finrod, for his part, made no move towards the Orc, but walked without fear to Utíraiel's other side and sat as well. *You are not hurt?*

   *Only for the first time many months ago,* she answered. *He was an Orc that escaped the swords and bow of King Thingol's warriors and yours, and came into Brethil one night as I walked. He attacked me then, and I was hurt, and I feared. My brother went about with me for a whiles,, but I thought that He," she waved her hand vaguely before her, "would have been hunted down or would have fled.

   *But it was not so, for I met him a second time, but he did not harm me. The third time, I sought him out, for I wished to speak with him for answers.*

   *What questions were so urgent and of so great importance that you should think to seek out an Orc alone and unaided?* Finrod's tone was one of gentle rebuke, but also of curiosity.

   Utíraiel halted, hesitating, and her voice was soft as if she spoke from far away in her memories. * I felt his tears fall upon me when he attacked me.*

   The Elf fell silent and turned to his own thoughts. _Tears,_ he thought, _and I trust Utíraiel on that. Yet how—why—has he need to cry?_ "You bring him food every day?"

   She wondered at her friend's change to Common Speech, but answered, "Every night, Lord."

   "Would you meet with him again tomorrow?" He asked. "In the morning? So that I may see him better in the light of the day, for though Elven sight is keen even in the darkness, I cannot see if he is who I think he is, for his skin is dark and blend too well into the night, and his eyes are yellow."

   And Utíraiel perceived that her friend mistrusted Him still. "Finrod, he speaks in Quenya, for he knows no Sindarin, as Elves of the later times do. He spoke of a great lake, of Cuiviénen."

   Finrod raises his eyes to see the dark shape of the Orc prowl the clearing, his body tall but hardened. "The name of Cuiviénen may be learnt or heard of by mouth or books. King Thingol is one of the First, but I deem that you would not wish him to know of this, though he should know with a glance if your friend is what he truly claim to be."

   "No, I wish for no one else to know of this." Her voice was quiet, but worried and shrill.

   The Orc turned, hearing the desperation in her voice, and perceiving that Finrod had the intent to harm her, snarled and stalked towards them.

   Utíraiel heard his approach. *Nay! It is all right! Give us a moment more!*

   *You are—all right?*

   *Yes.* She smiled. "Finrod, the morning will be too revealing. Make it evening, I beg you."

   He took her hand and rose, pulling her up. "It is late and your parents or brother will fret." He took her bag from the log.

   *Meet me—meet me when the sun sets tomorrow,* Utíraiel said to Him. *Earlier than tonight. Would you come?*

   *I—will come,* he rasped, and turned to run.

   Finrod watched him until he was gone, then led Utíraiel home. "Do not worry," he said. "I will tell no one of this should you wish it not so."

   Utíraiel took his hand and smiled.

***

   He slowed to a walk when he was far from the clearing. _That Elf!_ His mind cried to him. _One of the First!_

   And in his thoughts, he saw still the glow of the Elf, that light that had shone from within, mixing with the rich gold of his hair.

   But he knew that that Elf was not at the Great Lake, for he did not recall seeing his face. He stopped. _H-how should I know of a-any of the First? Not there._

   To him came again the visions of memories from long ago, and he felt once more the tightening of the trees about him, and the roaming eyes of his Master, searching for him.

   No pain came, but he trembled as the gaze of his Master crossed him but saw him not, and the trees trembled as well. And he felt fear come unbidden, that he should be found and ordered to return or slay all him this forest.

   He halted. Nay. He served his Master, though he feared Him. His will and malice were for Morgoth to command.

   As he climbed a tree, he growled aloud, wishing to see an Elf or a Man he might lay his claws on and tear to pieces, tasting the blood of their veins.

   But the trees were silent, and drew away not from him.


	11. Ten: Revelations

A/N: With thanks to _saiyan__-girl-cheetah_ for bugging me to update. g

"…" = Common Speech

*…* = Sindarin

"He" (and all related pronouns) refers to the Orc.

**The Tale of an Orc**

Ten: Revelations

   Though Morgoth sat on his throne and left his stronghold no more, his spies and servants still went about the lands, and at his orders brought back news of Elves and Men. He knew each and every of his servant, for when he created them, he poured his malice into them, and their wills were bound to his.

   In the most recent battle with the Elves and Men of Beleriand, many of the Orcs had been slain. All but one. That one was one of the First he had taken and changed in the earlier days of the world, for Morgoth felt his own malice run in it that was old and had fostered over the ages.

   That one was not dead: Morgoth felt its will still pulsing with his own. He had turned his eyes to Beleriand more than once, searching…ever searching for it, for he was loathe to lose anything of his own work.

   But Morgoth saw it not, for it was as if a veil of strength shielded it from his eyes.

   He withdrew his gaze and turned to his own thoughts, but the Orc did not escape from his memory.

***

   Finrod stood waiting with Utíraiel. The sun was low on the horizon already, but still gave off enough light to see clearly by. They waited in silence.

   Then, Finrod's keen ears picked up the muffled sound of heavy footsteps treading on fallen foliage. Utíraiel heard them as well, and raised her head, smiling.

   He came into the light then, flinching but a little at it, and He stood still, staring at Finrod and Utíraiel. The Elf did naught else but gaze back at Him, holding the yellow eyes with his own bright ones.

   Utíraiel stepped forward and Finrod almost stopped her, for he had fought against Orcs for long and it was not in him to see his friend be about one.

   The Orc, for his part, held out his hands as he saw the girl approach him. Utíraiel's hands were stretched out before her as well, and Finrod felt that they had performed this same action many times, for she knew her way with the ground, and needed no guide to reach out to.

   *Let us sit down.* Finrod heard Utíraiel speak softly to Him. *Finrod wishes to speak with you.*

   The Orc grunted and helped the girl to the log carefully, and the Elf watched Him. And Finrod was careful to see that His clawed fingers tapped softly against Utíraiel's arm He had them wrapped around; His eyes also roamed a little about, glancing frequently to the girl with hunger.

   Finrod saw all that, and more, but remained silent.

   When Utíraiel had sat down, the Orc straightened himself and looked at Finrod, rumbling slightly.

   *Who are you?* Finrod demanded.

   The Orc snarled at the tone and did not answer, or could not.

   Finrod stepped closer, his eyes gazing at the Orc's yellow ones. *Who are you?* He spoke again, and this time, his voice was gentler, for he saw in the Orc distorted and broken memories of ages past: of a lake, of his own people; and he felt wisdom that was older than his own, hidden by shadows.

   He looked deeper, and it was as if he saw the distant twinkle of Elbereth's stars in those eyes that suddenly seemed less yellow.

   The Orc growled, and the trance was broken, and Finrod stirred. He saw Utíraiel's hand on His arm, and knew that He would have attacked had the girl not restrained Him.

***

   He took the tone as a challenge and a threat and heard not the words that came with it. As an animal facing another, he held the eyes of the golden-hared one before him.

   The Elf spoke again, gentler, but he did not respond to it, perceiving it to be trickery of some sort, but from the Elf came forth a light and a warmth that shone even from his eyes and bore into Him.

   And as if they had been summoned forth, his visions came again: the same ones, yet with more intensity. The ones in his visions and the one before him were alike, very alike, and He felt himself almost reaching out.

   Then, the gaze and the light bore too deep, and He growled, hating the light then, tensing to leap forward and tear the golden-haired one to pieces, rip him open with His teeth and feel the blood smoothing his lips.

   But a gentle touch halted him and he knew it was the girl's hand on his: a restraint that had grown in him from naught; and he took it as a part of himself and heeded its command.

***

   Finrod turned his eyes upon Utíraiel, though she could not see it. He sighed. "Do you wish to return?"

   "Nay, not yet," she said. "I have yet to give him his food. Finrod?"

   "Aye?"

   "What did you see?"

   The Elf paused. "Memories," he said at last, slowly. "But they are many and broken."

   Utíraiel nodded. "Can he return to what he was?"

   "I know not," Finrod answered. "Mayhap; mayhap not. But I will try to aid him and you."

   "Thank you."

   Finrod only smiled.


	12. Eleven: Protections

A/N: My sincerest apologies for having not updated this piece for so long. I¡¯ve been bogged down by more projects, having to deal with difficult group members, and exams than I care to handle. But well, hope you all enjoy this chapter.

**Note: If the characters of this piece seems weird (like when strange symbols appear in place of the open- and close-inverted commas), please right-click, and from encoding, choose Chinese simplified. It seems as if my computer is acting up again. Thanks.**

**The Tale of an Orc**

**Eleven: Protections**

Finrod Felagund had promised his help to Ut¨ªraiel and the Orc, and he sought them out one evening after having left Beleriand for many months.

For he had taken leave of Elu Thingol and followed many of the Sindar scouts further north to collect news from others of their kin, who were ever watchful, for many amongst them believed not that the Seige of Angband would hold. 

Having been born in Aman, the Blessed Land of the Valar, he was one of the few to be granted brief snatches of foresight and more acute sensing of the Enemy and of the Shadow that loomed ever, even if it was held prisoner then.

And he felt the eyes of Morgoth the Accursed wander the lands, roaming, felt the very air become oppressed under the shadow of their searing gaze.

At first, Finrod thought that Morgoth only surveyed the lands and the numerous Orc bands he sent out through secret means to mar the lands even more. But he felt the weight of the gaze always southwards, at times remaining there for long, and dread formed in his heart.

_Brethil__._

He took leave of the watchers and hurried back to Beleriand, and to Brethil, all the time feeling Morgoth¡¯s gaze upon the land,

And he wondered if it was all worth it. For, if Morgoth was looking for that Orc, he would send his servants to bring it back if it was found, and open war could not be avoided with the Orcs.

_Was it worth it just for one single Orc?_ he wondered. _To risk so many for one¡ªone whom we know not if will harm us; one whom we know not if will become friend, or return to a foe._

But the wisdom he had learnt in Aman held him to his nature, and he understood that things that happened could not be in his control beyond the choices he made, and the acts he did.

¡°Ut¨ªraiel!¡± he called out now, having seen her and It together, stepping into the clearing. ¡°I need to speak with you.¡±

¡°Finrod!¡± The young woman cried and rose, walking over to him without fear of tripping, and embraced him. ¡°Off to meet with the scouts again?¡±

The Elf smiled slightly as he returned the embrace, wrinkling his noise slightly at the scent of the Orc upon the woman. ¡°Aye. And we must speak of and do certain things quickly.¡±

Ut¨ªraiel laughed as she felt the slight distaste of her friend, for having lived without sight, the world was more acute to her in other ways. But she grew grave, and asked: ¡°What matters carry so much urgency that you hasten here without first resting and changing?¡± She fingered the slightly thicker and coarser tunic he wore for missions out of Beleriand.

¡°Morgoth is searching for It¡ªHim,¡± Finrod said quietly. ¡°I felt his eyes roaming the lands, as if they were seeking something but could not find it, though they knew where it was.¡±

The woman started backwards, and the Orc, seeing her alarm, growled and approached, but she waved at it to stay and faced her friend, voice defiant, though un-angered at him. ¡°How do you know of that?¡± she challenged.

¡°It has been said by the wise in Elwë¡¯s court that when the first Elves were taken, Morgoth poured much of his malice into them and changed their nature. Bonds formed between servants and master, bonds of evil and shadows. And that bond is strong. Though he is but one Orc, he is the work of Morgoth, and beautiful to his master as the Silmarils are the most wondrous to their maker. The Dark Master does not like to lose his creations, and he does not forget.¡±

Finrod trembled at those words, and he saw that Ut¨ªraiel did so as well.

¡°What can we do, then? We are but mere mortals against Morgoth.¡± Her voice, once quivery, hardened. ¡°But I will not let Morgoth take him back.¡±

The Elf wished to sigh, but did not, and only spoke: The trees here have done much in their part o hide Him from Morgoth. I can feel it.¡± He placed his palm on the trunk of the nearest tree, and felt the old thoughts of it, almost sleepy but filled with the power of the lands and of the remnant strength of Yavanna Pal¨²rien, and he sensed also the net of power the tree cast to the ones around it, and to the ones beyond, forming a veil which concealed the Orc.

¡°Morgoth cannot see Him,¡± Finrod said. ¡°But the bond between them is stronger than these trees, though it is dulled much. Yet, he knows that his servant is here in Beleriand.¡± He was silent for a moment. ¡°I will weave my own veil about him, strengthening the one that Brethil has made, but I know not if it will withstand Morgoth¡¯s eyes.¡±

Ut¨ªraiel was silent in her worry, and Finrod, wishing to reassure his friend, placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled. ¡°Do not fear overmuch. The trees know what they sense from Him, and they would not have protected him had they not sensed his Elven nature.¡± He glanced up at the Orc, who gnashed his teeth at the Elf¡¯s gaze.

The woman laughed lightly, and gave her friend¡¯s arm a squeeze. ¡°_Hannon le, hir nîn a mellon nîn Finrod._¡± (Thank you, my lord and my friend Finrod.)

¡°There is no need for thanks, Ut¨ªraiel. Would you sit down with him?¡±

Ut¨ªraiel nodded and returned to the Orc¡¯s side, and they both sat on a log, waiting, the Orc¡¯s eyes suspicious.

Finrod gazed at them for a moment, ere he raised his arms and started to sing a song of power, of veiling, of concealment, and he felt the trees quiver slightly as they were awakened more and their powers rushed out to meet his, mixing and intertwining, weaving in and out of one another, drawing from the Elven nature they felt from Finrod and from the memories of the Orc, forming a veil strong and almost treacherous, almost like the Girdle of Melian.


End file.
